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Name: Class: Date:
5. Which of the following countries are not full members of the European Union (EU)?
a. Russia
b. France
c. Slovenia
d. Belgium
ANSWER: a
6. Which of the following countries are not full members of the European Union (EU)?
a. Malta.
b. Canada.
c. Slovenia.
d. Ireland.
ANSWER: b
8. European Public Procurement Directives apply to which of the following governmental institutions?
a. The State.
b. Regional and Local Authorities.
c. Bodies governed by public law.
d. All governmental institutions.
ANSWER: d
18. According to the EU Directives on public procurement threshold values, the total value of the lots which are separated
from the total contract should not exceed which of the following percentages of the total contract value?
a. 5%.
b. 10%.
c. 15%.
d. 20%.
ANSWER: d
20. What is the title of the procurement database of the European Commission?
a. Tender Electronic Daily (TED).
b. Public Purchasing (PP).
c. Tender electronic weekly (TEW).
d. European Purchasing (EP).
ANSWER: a
21. Which of the following best comes before the ‘contract notice’?
a. The contract awards notice.
b. The notification of unsuccessful bidders.
c. The contract evaluation.
d. The prior information notice.
ANSWER: d
22. Which of the following comes immediately before the ‘contract award notice’?
a. The contract notice.
b. The notification of unsuccessful bidders.
c. The contract evaluation.
d. The prior information notice.
ANSWER: a
33. Which of the following best explains public procurement ‘open procedure’?
a. Open to companies globally.
b. Every market party within the EU should be able to subscribe to a governmental tender.
c. Restricted to non-EU companies.
d. Open to public bodies only.
ANSWER: b
34. Which of the following best explains public procurement ‘restricted procedure’?
a. The procedure with pre-selection.
b. Only EU companies can tender.
c. Only large companies may tender.
d. Only non-EU companies may tender.
ANSWER: a
35. Which of the following best explains public procurement ‘design contest’?
a. Tendering organizations submit designs to be ranked by the purchasing organization.
b. Contracts are awarded prior to design being submitted.
c. Submitted designs are judged by a jury of professionals in fields complimentary to the nature of the design.
d. Designs are given to tendering organizations.
ANSWER: c
36. Which of the following best explains public procurement ‘competitive procedure with negotiation’?
a. Only one supplier can tender.
b. Contracting authorities can negotiate with suppliers.
c. Submitted tenders are judged by a jury of professionals in fields complimentary to the nature of the design.
d. Suppliers negotiate with each other.
ANSWER: b
37. Which of the following best explains public procurement ‘negotiated procedure with or without prior publication’?
a. Contracting authorities do not need to publish a prior notice before negotiating with suppliers.
b. Contracting authorities cannot negotiate with suppliers.
c. Tenders are submitted from suppliers in a sequence according to the suppliers ranking.
d. Suppliers negotiate with each other.
ANSWER: a
38. Which of the following best explains public procurement ‘competitive dialogue’?
a. Contracting authorities can negotiate with suppliers on the final supply arrangements.
Copyright Cengage Learning. Powered by Cognero. Page 6
Name: Class: Date:
39. Which of the following best explains public procurement ‘innovation partnership’?
a. A procedure to develop and acquire innovative solutions to problems face by authorities.
b. A Partnership between two tendering suppliers.
c. A new company partnering an established company to bid for contracts.
d. A partnership from two or more EU countries.
ANSWER: a
40. Which of the following best explains public procurement ‘dynamic purchasing system’?
a. A constantly changing purchasing system.
b. A system for ordering non-standard items on an irregular basis.
c. An electronic process for invoicing suppliers.
d. An electronic process facilitating buying standard goods and services.
ANSWER: d
61. Which of the following the cost savings figure is possible due to European Procurement Directives?
a. Up to 10%.
b. Up to 20%.
c. Up to 30%.
d. Up to 40%.
ANSWER: c
62. As a result of the general EU procurement procedures, contractors are not allowed to do which of the following?
a. Use brand or specific supplier specifications.
b. Use own suppliers.
c. Award contracts to non-EU companies
d. Avoid procurement procedures.
ANSWER: a
63. As a result of the general EU procurement procedures, contractors are not allowed to do which of the following?
Copyright Cengage Learning. Powered by Cognero. Page 10
Name: Class: Date:
II
“I think that is all,” said the hurried, jaded doctor to the Northern
nurse. “The child is convalescent—you understand about the
nourishment?—and you know what to do for Mrs. Leroy? I shall bring
some one who will stay with her husband within the hour.”
Outside was the glare of sun upon white sand—a pitiless sun,
whose rising and setting seemed the only things done in due order in
all the hushed and fever-smitten city. Within was a shaded green
gloom and the anguished moaning of a sick woman.
Mildred Fabian, alone with her patients and the one servant who
had not deserted the house, faced her work and felt her heart rise
with exultation—a singular, sustaining joy that never yet had failed
her in the hour of need. The certainty of hard work, the
consciousness of danger, the proximity of death—these acted
always upon her like some subtle stimulant. If she had tried to
explain this, which she did not, she would perhaps have said that at
no other time did she have such an overwhelming conviction of the
soul’s supremacy as in the hours of human extremity. And this
conviction, strongest in the teeth of all that would seem most
vehemently to deny it, was to her nothing less than intoxicating.
She was not one of the women to whom there still seems much
left in life when love is gone. To be sure, she had the consolations of
religion and a certain sweet reasonableness of temperament which
prompted her to pick up the pieces after a crash, and make the most
of what might be left. But she was obliged to do this in her own way.
She was sorry, but she could not do it in her mother’s way.
When she told her family that her engagement was at an end, that
she did not care to explain how the break came, and that if they
meant to be kind they would please not bother her about it, she knew
that her mother would have been pleased to have her take up her
old life with a little more apparent enthusiasm for it than she had ever
shown before. To be a little gayer, a little more occupied, a little
prettier if possible, and certainly a little more fascinating—that was
her mother’s idea of saving the pieces. But Mildred’s way was
different, and after dutifully endeavoring to carry out her mother’s
conception of the conduct proper to the circumstances with a dismal
lack of success, she took her own path, which led her through a
training school for nurses first, and so, ultimately, to Jacksonville.
The long day wore slowly into night. The doctor had returned very
shortly with a man, whether physician or nurse she did not know,
whom he left with Mr. Leroy. The little maid, who had been dozing in
the upper hall, received some orders concerning the preparation of
food which she proceeded to execute. The convalescent child rested
well. The sick woman passed from the first to the second stage of
the disease and was more quiet. The doctor came again after
nightfall. He looked at her charges wearily, and told Mildred that the
master of the house would not rally.
“He is my friend, and I can do no more for him,” he said, almost
with apathy.
The night passed as even nights in sick-rooms will, and at last it
began to grow toward day. The nurse became suddenly conscious of
deadly weariness and need of rest. She called the servant and left
her in charge, with a few directions and the injunction to call her at
need, and then stole down the stairs to snatch, before she rested,
the breath of morning air she craved.
As she stood at the veranda’s edge in the twilight coolness and
twilight hush watching the whitening sky, there came steps behind
her, and turning, she came face to face with Neil Hardesty. She
stared at him with unbelieving eyes.
“Yes, it is I,” he said.
“You were with Mr. Leroy?” she asked. “Are you going?”
“My work is over here,” he answered, quietly. “I am going to send
—some one else.”
She bent her head a second’s space with the swift passing
courtesy paid death by those to whom it has become a more familiar
friend than life itself, then lifted it, and for a minute they surveyed
each other gravely.
“This is like meeting you on the other side of the grave,” she said.
“How came you here? I thought you were in California.”
“I thought you were in Europe.”
“I was for awhile, but there was nothing there I wanted. Then I
came back and entered the training school. After this is over I have
arranged to join the sisterhood of St. Margaret. I think I can do better
work so.”
“Let me advise you not to mistake your destiny. You were surely
meant for the life of home and society, and can do a thousand-fold
more good that way.”
“You do not know,” she answered, simply. “I am very happy in my
life. It suits me utterly. I have never been so perfectly at peace.”
“But it will wear you out,” he murmured.
She looked at him out of her great eyes, surprisedly. It was a look
he knew of old.
“Why, I expect it to,” she answered.
There was a little silence before she went on, apparently without
effort:
“I am glad to come across you again, for there is one thing I have
wanted to say to you almost ever since we parted, and it has grieved
me to think I might never be able to say it. It is this. While I do not
regret anything else, and while I am sure now that it was best for
both of us—or else it would not have happened—I have always been
sorry that the break between us came in the way it did. I regret that.
It hurts me still when I remember of what I accused you. I am sure I
was unjust. No wonder you were bitter against me. I have often
prayed that that bitterness might pass out of your soul, and that I
might know it. So—I ask your forgiveness for my suspicion. It will
make me happier to know you have quite forgiven me.”
He did not answer. She waited patiently.
“Surely”—she spoke with pained surprise—“surely you can forgive
me now?”
“Oh, God!”
She looked at his set face uncomprehending. Why should it be
with such a mighty effort that he unclosed his lips at last? His voice
came forced and hard.
“I—I did it, Mildred. I was the coward that you thought me. I don’t
know what insensate fear came over me and took possession of me
utterly, but it was nothing to the fear I felt afterwards—for those two
weeks—that you might suspect me of it. And when I knew you did I
was mad with grief and anger at myself, and yet—it seems to me
below contempt—I tried to save my miserable pride. But I have
always meant that you should know at last.”
She looked at him with blank uncomprehension.
“I did it,” he repeated, doggedly, and waited for the change he
thought to see upon her face. It came, but with a difference.
“You—you did it?” for the idea made its way but slowly to her mind.
“Then”—with a rush of feeling that she hardly understood, and an
impetuous, tender gesture—“then let me comfort you.”
It was the voice of the woman who had loved him, and not of any
Sister of Charity, however gracious, that he heard again, but he
turned sharply away.
“God forbid,” he said, and she shrank from the misery in his voice;
“God forbid that even you should take away my punishment. Don’t
you see? It is all the comfort I dare have, to go where there is danger
and to face death when I can, till the day comes when I am not
afraid, for I am a coward yet.”
She stretched her hands out toward him blindly. I am afraid that
she forgot just then all the boasted sweetness of her present life, her
years of training, and her coming postulancy at St. Margaret’s, as
well as the heinousness of his offence. She forgot everything, save
that this was Neil, and that he suffered.
But all that she, being a woman and merciful, forgot, he, being a
man and something more than just, remembered.
“Good-by, and God be with you,” he said.
“Neil!” she cried. “Neil!”
But his face was set steadfastly toward the heart of the stricken
city, and he neither answered nor looked back.
The future sister of St. Margaret’s watched him with a heart that
ached as she had thought it could never ache again. All the hard-
won peace of her patient years, which she thought so secure a
possession, had gone at once and was as though it had not been;
for he, with all his weaknesses upon him, was still the man she
loved.
“Lord, give him back to me!” she cried, yet felt the cry was futile.
Slowly she climbed the stairs again, wondering where was the
courage and quiet confidence that had sustained her so short a time
ago.
Was it true, then, that heaven was only excellent when earth could
not be had? She was the coward now. In her mind there were but
two thoughts—the desire to see him again, and a new, appalling fear
of death.
She re-entered the sick-room where the girl was watching her
patients with awed eyes.
“You need not stay here,” she said, softly. “I cannot sleep now. I
will call you when I can.”
“THE HONOR OF A GENTLEMAN”
I
Because there was so little else left him to be proud of, he clung
the more tenaciously to his pride in his gentle blood and the spotless
fame of his forefathers. There was no longer wealth nor state nor
position to give splendor to the name, but this was the less sad in
that he himself was the sole survivor of that distinguished line. He
was glad that he had no sisters—a girl should not be brought up in
sordid, ignoble surroundings, such as he had sometimes had to
know; as for brothers, if there had been two of them to make the fight
against the world shoulder to shoulder, life might have seemed a
cheerier thing; but thus far he had gotten on alone. And the world
was not such an unkindly place, after all. Though he was a thousand
miles away from the old home, in this busy Northwestern city where
he and his were unknown, he was not without friends; he knew a few
nice people. He had money enough to finish his legal studies; if there
had not been enough, he supposed he could have earned it
somehow; he was young and brave enough to believe that he could
do anything his self-respect demanded of him. If it sometimes asked
what might seem to a practical world fantastic sacrifices at his
hands, was he not ready to give them? At least, had he not always
been ready before he met Virginia Fenley?
She reminded him of his mother, did Virginia, though no two
women in the world were ever fundamentally more different.
Nevertheless, there was a likeness between the little pearl-set
miniature which he cherished, showing Honora Le Garde in the
prime of her beauty, and this girl who looked up at him with eyes of
the self-same brown. Surely, Virginia should not be held responsible
for the fact that a slender, graceful creature with yellow hair and
dark-lashed hazel eyes, with faint pink flushes coming and going in
her cheeks, and the air of looking out at the world with indifference
from a safe and sheltered distance, was Roderick Le Garde’s ideal
of womanhood, and that he regarded her, the representative of the
type, as the embodiment of everything sweetest and highest in
human nature. Virginia’s physique, like Roderick’s preconceptions of
life and love and honor, was an inheritance, but a less significant
one; it required an effort to live up to it, and Virginia was not fond of
effort.
His feeling for her was worship. Virginia had not been looking on
at the pageant (Roderick would have called it a pageant) of society
very long, but she was a beautiful girl and a rich one; therefore she
had seen what called itself love before.
As an example of what a suitor’s attitude should be, she preferred
Roderick’s expression of devotion to that of any man she knew. He
made her few compliments, and those in set and guarded phrase;
except on abstract topics, his speech with her was restrained to the
point of chilliness; even the admiration of his eyes was controlled as
they met hers. But on rare occasions the veil dropped from them,
and then—Virginia did not know what there was about these
occasions that she should find them so fascinating; that she should
watch for them and wait for them, and even try to provoke them, as
she did.
Worship is not exactly the form of sentiment of which
hopelessness can be predicated, but Roderick was human enough
to wish that the niche in which his angel was enshrined might be in
his own home. He let her see this one day in the simplicity of his
devotion.
“Not that I ask for anything, you understand,” he added, hastily. “I
could not do that. It is only that I would give you the knowledge that I
love you, as—as I might give you a rose to wear. It honors the flower,
you see,” he said, rather wistfully.
She lifted her eyes to his, and he wondered why there should flash
across his mind a recollection of the flowers she had worn yesterday,
a cluster of Maréchal Niels that she had raised to her lips once or
twice, kissing the golden petals. She made absolutely no answer to
his speech, unless the faintest, most evanescent of all her faint
smiles could be called an answer. But she was not angry, and she
gave him her hand at parting.
In spite of her silence she thought of his words. The little that she
had to say upon the subject she said to her father as they were
sitting before the library fire that evening.
John Fenley was a prosperous lumberman, possessed of an
affluent good nature which accorded well with his other surroundings
in life. Virginia was his only child, and motherless. She could not
remember that her father ever refused her anything in his life; and
certainly he had never done so while smoking his after-dinner cigar.
“Papa,” she began, in her pretty, deliberate way—“papa, Roderick
Le Garde is in love with me.”
Her father looked up at her keenly. She was not blushing, and she
was not confused. He watched a smoke-ring dissolve, then
answered, comfortably,
“Well, there is nothing remarkable about that.”
“That is true,” assented Virginia. “The remarkable thing is that I like
him—a little.” Her eyes were fixed upon the fire. There was a pause
before she went on. “I have never liked any of them at all before, as
you know very well. I never expect to—very much. Papa, you afford
me everything I want; can you afford me Roderick Le Garde?”
“Do you know what you are asking, Virginia, or why?” he said,
gravely.
“I have thought it over, of course. Couldn’t you put him in charge at
one of the mills or somewhere on a comfortable number of
thousands a year? Of course I can’t starve, you know, and frocks
cost something.”
“My daughter is not likely to want for frocks,” said John Fenley,
frowning involuntarily. “You did not take my meaning. I wish your
mother were here, child.”
“I am sufficiently interested, if that is what you mean,” said Virginia,
still tranquilly. “He is different, papa; and I am tired of the jeunesse
dorée. Perhaps it is because I am so much dorée myself that they
bore me. Roderick has enthusiasms and ideals; I am one of them; I
like it. You, papa, love me for what I am. It is much more exciting to
be loved for what one is not.”
Her father knit his brows and smoked in silence for a few minutes.
Virginia played with the ribbons of her pug.
“Marylander, isn’t he?”
“Something of the sort; I forget just what.”
“H’m!”
“Le Garde isn’t a business man,” John Fenley said, at length.
“Isn’t he?” asked Virginia, politely smothering a yawn.
“Is he? You know enough about it to know how important it is that
any man who is to work into my affairs, and ultimately to take my
place, should know business and mean business, Virgie. It is a long
way from poverty to wealth, but a short one from wealth to poverty.”
“Yes,” said Virginia, “I know; but I also know enough about it to be
sure that I could manage the business if it became necessary. You
and I are both business men, dear. Let us import a new element into
the family.”
Fenley laughed proudly. “By Jove! I believe you could do it!” A little
further silence; then, “So your heart is set on this, daughter?”
“Have I a heart?” asked Virginia, sedately, rising and leaning an
elbow on the mantel as she held up one small, daintily slippered foot
to the blaze.
II
Long afterward he used to wonder how it had ever come to pass—
that first false step of his, the surrender of his profession, and so of
his liberty. Before middle life a man sometimes forgets the imperious
secret of the springs that moved his youthful actions. In reality, the
mechanism of his decision was very simple.
“How can I give up my profession?” he asked Virginia.
She smiled up into his eyes, her own expressing a divine
confidence. “But how can you give up me?”
Though his doubts were not thereby laid to rest, the matter was
practically settled, and it was understood between them that he was
to accept her father’s unnecessarily liberal offer, and take his place
in John Fenley’s business as his own son might have done. This
may have been unwise, but it was not unnatural, and if there was
any unwisdom in the proceeding, it was apparent to no eyes but
Roderick’s own. Other people said what other people always say
under such circumstances—that young Le Garde was in luck; that he
would have a “soft snap” of it as John Fenley’s son-in-law; that he
had shown more sagacity in feathering his own nest than could have
been expected of such an impractical young fellow. They did not
understand his chill reserve when congratulated on this brilliant bit of
success in life. If they had spoken of his good fortune in being loved
by Virginia, that was something a man could understand. The gods
might envy Virginia’s lover, but that he, Roderick Le Garde, should
be congratulated on becoming John Fenley’s son-in-law was
intolerable.
He by no means pretended to scorn money, however, and he felt
as strongly as did Fenley that Virginia must have it. Luxury was her
natural atmosphere—any woman’s perhaps, but surely hers. Other
men sacrificed other things for the women that they loved. He gave
up his proud independence and his proper work, and was sublimely
sure that Virginia understood what the sacrifice cost him.
But it was true that he was not a business man by nature, and his
first few years in John Fenley’s service were not the exacting drill
which would have given him what he lacked. Although he
conscientiously endeavored to carry his share of the burden and do
well what fell to him to do, the fact was that John Fenley was a great
deal too energetic and too fond of managing his own affairs to give
up any duties to another which he could possibly perform for himself.
Thus Roderick’s various positions were always more or less of
sinecures as far as responsibility was concerned, and he had a large
margin of leisure as well as a sufficient amount of money to devote